Well My, My, Darling
by LovelyFangirls
Summary: (first person) CrowleyXReader With a ReaderxDean love triangle. I know, crazy. One day, while cozied up to watch some of that favorite TV show, Supernatural, the reader finds themselves face to face with a certain over-confident king of hell. But... is there a twist to this tale? Ongoing, M for language, sex, tons of teasing and naughty bits, you know, the usual Crowley gift basket
1. Genisis

**Because sometimes we just need a little weird fluff in our lives with a certain king of hell. ;)**

**Okay, I know I was supposed to be good and not post anymore ongoing stories while I worked on finishing the ones already up, but.. I just HAD to write this one. I'm sorry... Don't kill me alright? I'll write religiously all week to get those updates out fast! Promise?**

**This is based loosely off of a dream I had, and I really just fell so in love with it that I didn't want to forget. Hopefully it's relatable, I don't really like xreaders that have input slots, makes the whole story feel incomplete. So, even though I don't have them, feel free to input your own personality or physical appearance parts, name, whatever you like. Thanks to someone's helpful review, it's still a blank page, I had a name I used but I liked their idea better. There's just no random (insert here) icons crowing up my pages now. :)**

**-LF**

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I'm not a very beautiful girl. At least, that's my opinion. I've got some pimples, though they can usually be hidden by some makeup. My hair is always tangled and untamed, but I wear hats that shape my face. I haven't got a model's figure, but I know how to wear clothes that look good. I may snap at you if you're on my nerves, but rest assured, my friends may die at an early age from laughing too hard. I've got good points and bad ones, just like anyone else.

I'm the kind of person that hides away in a dark room where I can see my laptop a little better. People are awful, and fanfictions are life. I'd like to think there are other hopeless fangirls like me somewhere out in the world, that we could all meet up some day, drink way more caffeine than we should, and discuss all the crazy theories and questions we've accumulated in our fascinating, _odd_, brains.

I guess, some of us are introverts, some of us are socially attuned, some of us a funny, some are smart, some are talented, some... don't know what they want to be. And some of us... well, we just _are. _It's not a bad thing, in fact, it's reasonable. I suppose. Maybe I'm rambling again. Too many thoughts jammed in my brain and not enough ways to vent them all at once leaves me in situations like this.

There was a point to this; I'm an average, awkward, not-so-good-looking girl.

But I guess not everyone thought that.

I was at a point in my life where relationships seemed cruel, if not pointless. They started sweet, never lasted, and ended badly. Maybe that's a gruesome way of putting it, but it was how I truly felt. It was another weekday. School was over, and I was huddled in front of the TV, wrapped in something warm and flipping through the episodes of Supernatural on Netflix. Of course, I'd already seen them all, waiting vainly for the site to catch up and finally release the new season. One of those days where you feel like reminiscing. I watched with a blank stare, just sort of thinking. I'd gone through one of the toughest break ups in my years, someone I'd been friends with for years, discarded because of a mistake, but we were still supposed to be friends. It was harder for me then it was for them...

Still staring mindlessly at the television, I might have dozed a little, just barely catching the boys speak and summon the supernatural beings with a single man tear and a plea. Then Dean and Cas would have their moments of eye sex, Sam would pout, Crowley would do something that should be expected by that point, and the boys would be a little more broken for the journey. I began thinking of how wonderful it would be to be able to just say "Please come" and have someone you loved just show up for your sake. That second. When you _really_ needed them there. My mind wandered further, if it was somehow possible for someone who didn't live in this pumped up Supernatural universe. If I could make a deal. Would I? Deals were always a bad idea, and came back to bite someone in the ass once all was said and done. But... for the sake of happiness.. I began thinking that maybe I would. Maybe I would make a deal for something like that.

"Well, someone is thinking very nasty thoughts." Came a deep, slightly raspy voice.

I jumped in my seat, nearly jolting right out of my skin, and released a little yelp. Standing before me was the very man I'd been fantasizing about making a deal with. The image that the show had provided me with; Mark Shepard, dressed in a tux, a little whiskey on the breath, and a shit-eating-grin. "Hello Darling."

"Holy shit!" I let out, before really being able to stop myself. I mean, I didn't remember falling asleep, and... well there's no logical reason for Mark Shepard to just _appear_ in my home. If there _was_, the world would be a different -but amazing- place.

"I see you have a dirty mouth to match that head of yours." he smirked.

"You're- you're not real... Supernatural... Mark Shepard- Crowley... not real. TV show!"

The man brushed something from his shoulder, looking as disheveled and calm as he appeared in the show, "Calm down love, you'll hurt yourself."

"I- What the hell?!"

"Really, you'd think a girl like yourself should have gotten the big picture by now." he scolded, swinging around and pressing the power button of my television just as Crowley came onto the screen. It was trippy. Like he had come right off the screen, and was making small talk in that same Scottish accent.

"I think I'm going insane." I laughed, shutting my eyes and leaning back against my couch, hands covering my face. I told myself it would all just disappear when I opened them again. "This couldn't be real."

"Honestly darling, do I have to spell it out for you." he groaned, "_You_ called _Me_."

My eyes snapped open and I drew my hand away, "I-"

All I'd done was watch the show. I'd been thinking about being happy and the breakup but- ... then it dawned on me. "You're... a demon? Here to make a deal?"

"And we have a winner." He drew his hands together for a slow clap, staring down at me with a barely amused expression.

"And... the reason you're wearing Mark Shepard?" I questioned, giving his figure a once over.

"Wouldn't you believe that your beloved actor _was_ really a demon?"

"Nope."

The demon smirked, "I can appear in any form I like. This was one you were familiar with, so I'm, as they say on that show of yours, "Wearing him to the prom"."

Demon. In my living room. Talking to me. Wearing Mark Shepard as a meat suit. I must be off my rocker. "I'm definitely insane." I muttered, shaking my head.

"Of course." he chuckled, "But wouldn't you find it boring not to be? All the interesting people are at least a _little_ mad."

"Am I dreaming?"

"Afraid not."

"Hallucinating?"

"No."

"Did someone slip me something?"

"And why would they?"

I shrugged, "Rape? Loss in credentials? Not that I really have any... Maybe this is just my brother, I stole one of his microwaveables for lunch. Did he poison it?"

The demon blinked at me for a moment, then shook his head, "You certainly have more than a _small_ spark of madness running through those veins. Don't you?" I watched, bewildered as he grinned, held out a hand, and introduced himself, "As you may have guessed, I'm a demon. While my name is _not_ Crowley, you're more than welcome to call me by it. It seems fitting for this body anyhow."

I hesitantly took his hand, more for the sake of my sanity, just to make sure he was really a physical being. His hand _felt_ solid at least. It... may have been real. I said my name softly, the insanity of the situation weakening my voice to almost nothing. He retracted his arm, and smiled the same, pasty grin I'd seen when he first appeared.

"Well then, now that the introductions are out of the way... What do you say love? Shall we get down to business?"


	2. Closing the Deal

"Now," the demon began, holding up a piece of tanned parchment paper and slipping a pair of glasses that seemed to come out of nowhere onto his face, "Says here you want a boyfriend that you can command at will?"

"Well no, not..." I frowned, "You have my thoughts recorded on some medieval paper?"

The demon smirked and flipped the paper so I could see the empty page, "Not really, it's blank. Just for dramatic effect." the paper and glasses disappeared as quickly as they had shown up, and he returned to his casual demeanor, staring at me like I was a freshly grilled steak.

"I don't want a boyfriend to.. "_command_ at will"." I griped, rejecting his look of doubt with a frustrated glare.

"Well then," He huffed, faking offence, "what exactly does her majesty want?"

My hands clenched the soft material of my blanket, my head bowed, eyes a little heavy as I stared at the ground and hesitated, "Anything I want?"

"Yes, Yes, whatever you want." he replied, rolling his eyes, "Money, power, sex, a lifetime supply of tacos, anything."

I chuckled for a moment, then looked up at him, catching his eyes. As tempting as a 'lifetime supply of tacos' sounded, I wasn't really dead set on anything he'd offered. Not that I wasn't grateful, I... I just wanted something to lift my spirits again. Since falling into my own little pity party, I hadn't been smiling very often. The breakup added to my list of failures, and honestly, the whole thing had effected me in a horrible way. All I really wanted was to move past that moment. So, after drawing a soft breath, I smiled half-heartedly at him, and wondered how awkward I would sound, "I.. want to be happy."

He visibly paused then. Crowley blinked, looked me up and down, then blinked again.

I mean, I don't know if I said something wrong. After all, it was what I wished for, but he just stared at me with a questioning expression, like I'd just said something completely bizarre. "Right." He snapped his fingers and the parchment dissipated, "Won't have it said that I'm not a man of my word. You know the risks of this transaction, correct?"

I let my eyes fall a little. On Supernatural anyhow, your payment for the deal was your soul, usually for five or ten years before collection. I knew _those_ risks, and honestly just assumed they'd be the same. Besides... it was worth it. Happiness was just a signature away.

So I raised my head and nodded. "Yeah."

He smiled that same pasty smile I first noticed, and revealed a new contract, pen in the opposite hand; held out to me. "Then by all means, lets make it official."

This paper was noticeably smaller, the purest of whites, and the entirety of the bottom was a line, ready for my name.

I signed quickly, before I could convince myself to do otherwise. Ready to lay back with a defeated sigh, I let my muscles go lax. I'd just signed a contract with a demon. Before I could get comfortable and re-gather my wits, the demon gripped my chin, catching my attention as he swooped down and planted one on me. His lips were a little forced, in a hard push against me. I'd kissed before, so I knew... somewhere in the back of my mind, how to respond. But the shock of being kissed by a demon -in Mark Shepard's skin- overwhelmed my senses. I froze up, my shoulders tensed, my eyes widened, and my lips parted it a bit of an 'oh'.

When he drew back with a sickly grin, I knew he'd felt how much it had caught me off guard. He licked his lips tauntingly, "You taste like onion."

Of. Fucking. Course. I'd had hamburger for lunch... with onions and pickles... how _un_romantic. I squeezed my eyes shut and was ready to mentally face palm when he let out a humorous chuckle. "You are simply full of surprises."

My eyes lifted to his amused ones. Was he serious? "Are you serious?"

He let out another huffed laugh, "I have no reason to lie to you." he flicked his wrist up to his face, staring at the sleek, silvery watch that clung to it, "Well darling, as fun as this little chat has been, I've got a man in New York ready for the break of his life to help him _out_ of New York, and a dancer in Ohio wanting to get _into_ New York _for_ her big break. Ironic really. Pitiful things think the grass is greener on the other side. I simply _must_ be there to watch the drama unfurl." his fist pushed back into the pocket of his black slacks as he returned to a grinning state, "You can expect a delivery tomorrow."

Then... as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone.

I still had a million questions! And a delivery? What was that about? I thought I'd made a deal for happiness... when was that supposed to hit? I still felt the same. I let my head fall back against the couch once again. What a freak show of a day. Brains as scrambled as eggs, and the headache from hell, I was ready to just sleep. My eyes opened up to stare at the ceiling in a tired, zoned out state, "What the hell am I doing?"

I pulled my legs up onto the couch with me, falling onto my side and hiding my nose beneath the covers, enjoying the warmth I found for it. I liked moments like this, hiding in blankets and pillows like a sort of warm burrow. It was comforting. By time my head finally let all of what had just happened sink in, I was exhausted. With heavy eyes, I finally let myself drift off.

I'd need to be awake for that package tomorrow... Whatever the hell it was going to be.


	3. The Special Package

**Well, I'm glad that this story is actually getting a little coverage. Honestly, I didn't expect anyone to read it at all. However, I'm pleasantly surprised. :) Anyway, I'd love if you'd comment to tell me what you think of it so far. I don't usually write things like this, so it would really rock my world to hear anything you've got to say about it. Right now it's just sort of like... alright... people have seen it... now what? **

**Anyway, thank you for the support you give by just following, favoriting, _reading_. :) Reviews are love! Thanks. -LF**

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I have a basement bedroom. I'm the only one that lives downstairs because my older brother and my folks live two floors above. I start college soon, and then I can move out.. but for now I'm stuck huddling by my little space heater for warmth when it gets too cold down here. I mean, I can't complain about all of it. I'm a midnight snacker, and most of the food is stored downstairs, including a pretty big pantry and the freezer (where all the ice cream is). We always have a lot of food, but it's a force of habit for my old man. I have some older siblings that have already left. Soon, that'll be me. There's a pretty good sized window just above my bed that opens out to the ground level, but I always have it closed. It's cold enough with it shut.

It's always been a fear of mine that someone will break into my window and kill me in my sleep or something. Which is why, as I hope you understand, I nearly screamed when there was a knocking on the glass early in the morning.

"W-what the hell!?" I stuttered, struggling to pull the window open, still not fully awake.

"Rise and shine" greeted the cheery Scottish accent, "I've brought presents."

Crowley- well, the demon wearing Crowley's skin, was crouched in front of my window, looking a little more humble than he had the other day. Being so low to the ground somehow felt fitting for him. Or maybe that was me feeling a little masochistic. "What are you doing? It's barely six a.m.!"

"I told you to expect me." he retorted.

"No," I fought, "You said to expect a "_package"_. Unless you're delivering yourself, I'd say that was a lousy white lie."

He chuckled, "As if I'd gift _myself_ to _you_. Dream on darling."

Pompous bastard.

He pointed a finger behind me, rolling his eyes when I refused to turn my head. I didn't trust him. The fact he was a demon put aside, he was a creep at my window at six thirty in the morning, wanting me to turn the opposite direction. In movies, this is the scene where the murderer pulls out his chloroform and kidnaps the stupid blonde. _I'm_ not a Hollywood bimbo first of all, and wasn't going to fall for it.

"Just look." he groaned, "It's just the package I promised you."

I scooted backward on my bed a little before finally deciding it was a respectable distance to turn my head. A box. The kind of box you'd see on the high shelves of a Costco or an Ikea; the ones that held the large pieces of furniture. Hell, it was almost the size of my bed. "Told you." Crowley said, suddenly on the opposite side of the brown cardboard box.

"How did-"

"Demon, sweetheart." he grinned, gesturing once more to the box, "Going to open it?"

It wasn't taped closed, in fact the cardboard flaps opened up with ease, revealing an unnerving sight.

Now, I'm sure it's every girls' dream that their favorite television star will just show up on their doorstep with a bouquet of roses and reveal their undying love, but.. the sickening reality of Jensen Ackles, folded up in a cardboard box made me drop my jaw. His knees were tight against his chest, his body just barely managing to squeeze into the box. Like someone had stuffed a doll version of him in there, and shipped it to me. "Wh- What the hell is this!?"

"Your on-call boyfriend." he chuckled, shoving his hands into the black pockets of his long coat with a smug grin.

"It's Jensen Ackles..."

"It's Dean Winchester." he corrected.

I was trying to find words. God, my life was so messed up. How was I supposed to make any sense of something like this? "Is... is this the real Jensen?"

"Of course not." he replied, rolling his eyes once more, "Just looks like him."

"A-and... is he alright? Sleeping?" I asked, poking at one of his legs curiously. It felt fleshy...

Crowley shook his head, "Just turned off. He'll be up and at'em just as soon as you active him."

"_Activate_ him?"

"Of course," he grinned, "You wanted a boyfriend to command at will, so naturally, he responds to your commands. You've simply got to call him."

I frowned, "What, like a dog? Here Jensen, good boy Jensen!" I mocked, wearing my own cocky grin when the demon actually chuckled.

"If you wish, but I do believe most men don't like to be summoned like a puppy. He won't respond to Jensen either love, Dean Winchester is his name."

"Alright..." I replied, biting my lower lip for a moment as I contemplated actually calling his name, "...Dean."

Instantly, the man's eyes opened, becoming fully aware of his surroundings as he sat up in the box, all the time keeping his eyes trained directly on me. It was awkward to describe... You might not think about it, but everyone has some sort of body language. Slouchers, stiff sitters, the works, but... it was like looking at a crossbreed of a robot and a love sick puppy staring at it's master. It gave me chills.

When he replied by saying _my _name, I was knocked out of thought and back into a oh-my-god-this-shit-is-actually-happening moment.

His voice was the same; that deep, slightly rough, manly one that just made everything he said extremely sexy. He'd said my name in that voice... I hadn't even realized I was blushing until Crowley pointed it out with an overly-satisfied smirk. He was _still_ a pompous bastard.

Dean was still just... staring at me. I didn't know what to do. He wasn't moving, and I didn't have a thing to say to him. I passed my glance between him and Crowley before the demon huffed, "Try saying drat."

I frowned, confused, "Drat?"

The body in front of me fell limp and leaned towards me. I caught him by the shoulders, tapping his cheek a few times before realizing he was a lifeless as he'd been in the box when I first opened it. "That's how you turn him off." Crowley muttered, once more raising his wrist into eyesight.

"Drat?" I questioned.

He shrugged, "A word no one uses, but you could still introduce it casually."

"This shit is messed up on so many levels..." I groaned, carefully trying to pull Dean out of the box, my limited strength not doing much for me.

"Get used to it darling."

"Anything else I should know?"

His lips tugged into a bit of a cocky smile, "You're the only one that sees him as your beloved Dean Winchester. To everyone else he's just a handsome stranger, about your age."

"O-okay..."

"I've got to be off, but if you're not satisfied, or run into a problem, I'm sure you know how to contact me."

"Wait but, I don't-"

And he was gone once again, leaving me with an out of order Dean Winchester lying in my lap. Lovely way to start the day.


	4. Dean Winchester

**Sorry that updating has been slow lately... Life had been a downer and my creative juices aren't spewing out as much as I'd like them to... Life has been kicking me in the ass a lot. Anywho, thanks for sticking with this story. I appreciate the support. **

**Remember, reviews are love! xoxo -LF**

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Saturday morning, Crowley had just popped out of my room once again, so I was pacing it. I have a bad habit of biting my nails, and it came into play as I wandered around my room, wondering what the heck I was going to do. There was an unconscious Dean Winchester doppelganger lying on my bedroom floor, given to me to, "Do with as I please". There are no manuals for this sort of thing! Maybe I should write one... _**How to deal with the real doll your demon drops off for you**_. Sure, that's some best-seller material right there.

I scratched my head and stared back at the lifeless body. It was what I'd asked for wasn't it? To be happy... well, who wouldn't be happy with a boyfriend like Dean Winchester. For any fangirl like myself that was _the_ dream moment. Why was I worrying? Hesitantly, I drew in a breath and neared him. "Dean?.." I muttered.

The body's eyes opened, and like before he sat up, a little slower this time. He stared at me, but blinked a little more this time. It seemed like he remembered me. "H-hi..." I fumbled. After all, what are you supposed to say to a gimmick of a celebrity that someone gifted you?

Again, no manuals for this kind of thing.

"Hey." he responded.

I'll admit, it threw me off a little to hear him say hello so casually, and with that deep, attractively soothing voice... I might have blushed, but I won't admit to it. "So.. uh..." I struggled to find something to say. It was so awkward! "My name, I-it's-"

"I already know your name."

Ah, right. I forgot that he'd said it the other day when I turned him on. Turned him on in the physical sense of course! I mean, physical as in, he could move his body and things and... maybe I should just stop talking. He smiled politely and greeted me, "My name is Dean. Dean Winchester."

"Yeah.. I know..."

He nodded awkwardly, just like the man I'd seen on the screen do countless times. "Jeez, they really got you down right..." I muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"I-I- Well... uh..." I pushed against the bridge of my nose, trying to fight off a headache, "You have any family?"

He frowned and displayed body language in a large form of offence, "Pardon?"

"Just... answer?"

He blinked a few times before shaking his head at me, "I've got a brother, Sammy."

"Mom died in a fire? Dad... heart attack?"

He huffed, "Well, that's what the medical report'll say but... How the hell do you know that?"

"It's... it's nothing. What's the last thing you remember?"

He opened his mouth to answer immediately with a snappy retort, but his face went blank. His lips closed and he hesitated, blinking rapidly almost in a form of denial. "I-" his mouth opened and closed like he was trying to talk, but no words came out.

"Hey, hey..." I brought my hands up to his shoulders, trying to calm him from the apparent freak out he was about to have, "It's okay."

"You're... what the hell is going on?"

I sighed with frustration. "It's a long story..."

"I have time."

I smiled half-heartedly at him. I got myself into something way too complicated.

* * *

"So you're telling me, you made a deal with _Crowley_? The king of Hell?"

"...Yes." I answered.

"So he gave me to you as a boyfriend?"

"N-... Yes."

"What the hell were your thinking?"

I crossed my arms defensively, "I didn't ask for any old boyfriend. In fact, I didn't ask for one at all!" I spat, angry that he'd turned the situation around on me.

"Then how did this happen? Explain it!"

"I just wanted to be happy!" I yelled back, the need to slap myself in the face becoming a strong itch I need to scratch. His face went blank. What was so jaw dropping about the wish for happiness? Every time I said it they'd just turn to mush and give me a pity-filled stare. I don't want to be pitied, "Stop looking at me like that." I frowned, turning my eyes to the floor in attempts to avoid his glance.

It made me so uncomfortable.

"Seriously, stop it." I repeated, "I'm fine."

"You made a deal with a demon. That's far from fine, kid."

"I'm not a kid." I snapped, "I start college after the summer is over."

Dean's face became a little softer, "You know, I have a brother who went to college."

"I know..." I mumbled, "I've seen the show remember?"

He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, "Yeah, sorry. I still can't really get over that." he let out a huffed laugh, "A TV show? Seriously?"

"I'm not lying to you..."

"No, I know. It's just, kinda weird. Y'know?"

I fell back onto my bed with a tired sigh, "Weird is an understatement for all of this nonsense."

Dean hummed in reply, "Can't you just have him take me back?"

"And say what? You're defective?" I groaned, pulling myself up and off of my back so I could look at him, "I mean, you're perfect. It's not your fault you got roped into this. I'm sorry for that by the way... That demon's got a bit too much cheek for his own good."

Dean donned a proud grin, "So, I'm perfect huh?"

"Oh shut up." I bit, "You're modeled after my ideal man." _I reeeeally need to learn to shut up and quit while I'm ahead._

"I'm your ideal man?" He repeated, with an even more pompous tone than the last.

"_You're_ not. Dean Winchester is."

He chuckled, "In case you haven't noticed sweetheart, I _am_ Dean Winchester."

"Yeah but- Well.. You're... UGH!" I slapped my palm to my forehead and let myself fling back onto my mattress. It was too much for me to work with. No point in arguing really, the man thought he was Dean Winchester, and honestly, for all intensive purposes, he _was_. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm _your_ "ideal man" sweet cheeks."

"Normally, I'd find your snarky comebacks cute, but today, it's just pissing me off."

A cool shadow drifted over me and the bed creaked, signifying that someone else had joined me. Dean was leaned over me, sitting on the bed at my side, a cocky grin stretched over his face, "Y'know, I feel cheated having you know everything about me while I don't know anything about you." he shrugged to the side, "Well, apart from your name anyway. That shit's mandatory though."

I let my eyes close again tiredly, "I have absolutely no idea how to respond to you hitting on me. I'm too tired to try."

"Then don't think of it that way. I'm just making friendly conversation." he smirked, "Just curious who my captor is."

"I'm not your captor." I frowned, letting one eye open into a squint so I could try and glare daggers at him.

He flopped down beside me casually, "It's not like I can just go home though right?"

"What home?" I snapped, more out of irritation than any intent to be cruel, but as soon as it left my lips I was sorry for saying it, "...Sorry... I didn't mean-"

"It's fine." he interrupted, "You're right after all."

"Home is where the heart is." I began, "It doesn't matter if you're in a house or a crummy motel room." I turned my head to the side so that I could send him a reassuring smile, "You have a home."

Dean let out a huffed laugh and folded his arms behind his head, "You're really a strange girl."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Not really." he grinned back at me, "Just surprised that you're having any troubles being happy."

I rolled my side, back to him, I wasn't ready to answer these questions, "It's still early, just go to sleep. I need a little more rest."

He didn't say anything else as I curled into a ball, arms wrapped tightly around a pillow. The kind of sleeping position you wear when you don't know how to deal with the feelings that are plaguing you. You know, I don't even know why I'm writing this anymore. It's a journal that no one is going to see or even needs to see. It's just me, re-writing the things I've felt and hated. Like my own mental torture.

Does that make me insane?

"Hey."

Dean's voice broke me from my thoughts. I hadn't even realized my eyes were wet until he said something.


	5. I'm Surrounded by Testosterone

**Well, I'm home from my marine biology trip and I'm super psyched to be able to sleep in my own bed again... I'm gonna sleep and write in cycles, catching up as best as I can. :) This is so overdo, and even after being home for a while, the end of the school year has been rearing it's head and piling work on me. Thanks for your constant understanding, support and kindness. Reviews are love! ^_^ xoxo**

**-LF**

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It was so surreal to be held in the arms of Dean Winchester. The man that every girl fantasizes about, dreams about, drools over and wishes they knew. Part of me wondered when I would wake up, because I couldn't really be in the situation that I was, back flush against his chest and warm with the body heat of having him wrapped around me, holding and protecting me.

The other part of me prayed it would never end.

"Feeling better?" he asked, breaking me from my thoughts with a soft, smooth voice.

I nodded and blushed, "Thanks."

"Yeah." His arms recoiled and I suddenly became cold. I wasn't about to ask for him to hold me again, but I silently missed it.

I sat up with determination, pushing off the bed and making my way towards a red, wooden desk. I like to keep journals see, much like the one I'm writing this in. Each little book has it's own purpose. Black one for a fitness log, the red, my story ideas and new words I want to learn. I have a small coil-note book that's only a little bigger than my palm as a song journal, and a little black flip that came with built in tabs that serves as a food journal.

Maybe I should have mentioned in my haste earlier, but I actually have a weak immune system. I'm sick a lot and found myself with a soft case of Celiac disease. If you're unfamiliar, it's an intolerance to gluten, commonly found in wheat. It's the _glue_ that holds the wheat together. Get it? Glue, as in Gluten? Yeah... sometimes I make bad jokes as well...

These might have been things to mention in the prologue.

"Where's the fire?" Dean groaned, leisurely pulling himself into an upright position.

"I've just got to write some things down." I replied dismissively, plopping down into a battered desk chair as I combed through the drawers.

He shook his head with a rather baffled look on his face as I pulled out a book, "Write what?"

"Nothing of importance." I retorted sharply.

"You just keep throwing me for loops, kid."

I stabbed him with a sharp stare, "I told you, I'm not a kid."

"Well, you're a kid to me."

"I'm almost eighteen!" I snapped.

He frowned, "You're not even eighteen yet? You said you were heading to college."

"I- I am..." I muttered, "I'm just... you know, a year or so early."

"Or so?"

"I... might have graduated high school early."

Dean chuckled in a mocking tone, "What are you? Some kind of whiz kid?"

"Not a kid." I bit, once more, "I worked hard in high school and just completed a few extra classes in my earlier years. I got my credits early. That's all."

"Whiz kid."

"Not a kid!"

* * *

We must have bickered on about my personal life for some time, because before I knew it, Dean was groaning about an empty stomach.

"You can drive can't you whiz kid?"

"Of course I can." I snapped, defensively, "and don't-"

"Don't call you kid, yeah, yeah, I know."

Suddenly, there was a rather violent tapping on my bedroom window. Dean jumped up from his perch on the corner of my desk defensively, putting himself in front of me in what I assumed was a bit of a reflex. Crowley, from the other side of the glass, rolled his eyes at the Winchester and snapped his fingers. The window pulled itself up, and he popped into the room. I suspect the entire ritual of knocking and opening my window was just for show. If he could get himself in with a click of his fingers, he certainly didn't need me to let him in.

"Well darling, how's the boyfriend panning out? Making you happy?"

"He hasn't been here that long Crowley." I mumbled.

"It's nearly three o'clock love." he grinned. Dean watched with a cautious eye as Crowley worked his way over next to me. He used his arm on my desk as a sort of support beam as he leaned, just a few inches away from my face, "Wouldn't you be able to judge whether or not you like him by now?"

"You're intolerable." I spat.

He chuckled with malice, "_You_ made the deal sweetheart."

Dean's head raised in a bit of a show of power. I smirked. He looked ready to stare Crowley down, "I think you should leave." he grumbled.

Crowley straightened himself, coming up to the hunter with a cheeky demeanor. "Never forget," he began, "my lovely little sack of flesh... I created you. All it would take is the snap of my fingers and you'd _dissipate_." He brushed the ends of his coat sleeve and let out a proud chortle, "Probably best if we respect our elders."

"You're a demon." Dean replied, as if that was the perfect explanation for everything.

"Yes, and you're a simple meat-suit." he retorted, tuning his attention back my way, "Did you have to like the self-righteous type?"

I huffed, "_You_ made him."

"A decision I might be starting to regret." he hissed, sharpening his glance as the hunter shuffled his footing until he was in a more defensive stance.

I raised my hand, taming the testosterone in the room, "Look, I have no complaints, and I didn't sign up for the regular house calls. Now, did you have something you needed from me? Or did you just decide to drop by for a friendly chit-chat?"

"I can't pop in to see if my client is satisfied with her toy?"

Dean's eyes glowered as he crossed his arms. Crowley retained his ever-so-proud smirk, and slipped his hands into the pockets of his black coat. It was like a macho man stand down. One I would rather not have in the middle of my bedroom, "I'm fine." I muttered, hoping that would satisfy him enough to just leave the way he came.

I didn't bear as much distaste for him as Dean seemed to, but I wasn't in the mood for a big slab of man barring his teeth at the demon who had promised me happiness. It wasn't making me all that _happy_ to be stuck in the middle of a dog fight. It caught me off guard when Crowley suddenly faltered. His eyes softened for a moment and his look passed over me for a mere second. I frowned and watched him take a rather considerable step back, raising his hands in surrender.

"Calm down you squirrel, there's a lady present."

I smirked, nudging Dean with my elbow, "Told you I wasn't a kid."

"On the contrary," Crowley began, inching towards me, "a flower as precious as yourself should be seen as an elegant _woma_n."

Dean wedged himself between us, glaring fiercely at the demon, "Pretty sure pedophilia is a serious crime."

"Then it's a good thing I wasn't insinuating anything of the sort, isn't it?" Crowley grinned. It was a plastic smile; all for show. However, his lined eyes told a different story from the one his mouth was trying to play off. The mental poison they were baring for Dean was overwhelming.


	6. Getting Used to Him

**Yeah... I don't have any really good excuses about why this chapter took so long to get posted... I was lazy and on vacation. Surry... (^_^')**

* * *

Now, over the summer, my parents like to take vacations around the world and "see the sights" as my dad loves to say. They've crossed off more places on the world map than I'd like to count. This year was no exception. For once, I was _extremely_ thankful to be left behind while they took off to some obscure region of the world. It made it easier to have Dean as a house guest. No questions asked.

However, I had only been with him one day. I was still nervous about going out in public with him. Going out would be inevitable, since I needed food at some point. Maybe I could just leave him at the house- yeah. That's a great idea. Leave a stranger in your house that isn't from this world. What could possibly go wrong? I sighed and dropped my head against my notebook.

Dean had settled down in my family room to see what his show was like. He'd grumbled a bit, laughed, reminisced, even shed a few tears. He was already on the second season and hooked like a fish on a line. I let him cope with that while I'd started writing in my journals again.

What I had to eat.

What I did for exercise.

What pills I took.

It's a bit of a depressing process, but it's one I was told was necessary for my health. I guess you could say I've lived a sheltered life. If anyone were to just open my desk drawer, they could find out things about me no man should ever know. I huffed and slammed the book closed, stuffing it back into my desk with irritation. Why couldn't I have just been born health? I got up and shuffled around before deciding to join Dean out in the other room.

"Hey," He called, realizing I'd entered the room, "do you think Crowley could conjure up my baby sometime?"

I chuckled, "Seriously?"

"Well, when you're done babysitting and you've got a car all your own, you'll understand." he raised his arms behind his head and cupped his hands just behind his neck, grinning happily, "Of course, whatever hot-pink bug you decide to get won't be able to compare to _my_ baby."

My eyes rolled of their own accord, "You talk out of your ass, and for your information I _can_ drive."

His expression showed interest, "Oh? Got a car?"

"...My folk's old one..." I mumbled, trying to ignore the snickering that followed.

"Mini-van right? You drive around like a soccer mom?"

I crossed my arms and shifted my weight onto one leg, glaring down at him, "It's a _suburban_ thank you very much."

He pulled a hand down over his face, not trying very hard to contain his chuckles, "How can you say that with a straight face? You might as well be a soccer mom with a car like that, kid." he grinned openly and gestured for me to sit down, "Lemme' show you a _real_ car."

"I've already seen the impala." I huffed, but sat down regardless, staring at the screen.

It was an episode I couldn't really place, which was fair considering how many episodes there were. I wasn't a super genius. Dean's character and Sam were passing puppy-dog glances back and forth in a shabby motel room, talking about something feels-y. Which didn't really cut down the numbers when it came to trying to identify a specific episode. "Which episode is this?" I finally asked.

He shifted back and lifted his arms over the back of the couch, "Not sure what the episode's called, but I think I remember this night..."

I frowned and managed to peek over at him through the corner of my eye. "You remember this?"

"Yeah." he replied, his eyes lowering slightly as his entire face seemed to fall, "The more I think about it, the more I wonder."

"About?"

He shifted awkwardly in his seat, "...You think I'm real?"

I paused, turning my entire head towards him now. What... was I supposed to say to that? "Of course you're real." I spat out awkwardly, punching his arm and smiling when he flinched, "See? Real people feel pain."

He rubbed his arm, smiling fondly, "Thanks kid."

"Not a ki-"

"Yeah, yeah." he mumbled as one of his arms came down from the back of the couch and circled my neck. He puled my head forward and rubbed his knuckles over my scalp despite my protesting.

It was still a pretty surreal situation, but I guess when you're someone who invests a lot of time in reading or watching fantasy and supernatural things, you start to sort of... subconsciously accept it. Any fangirl might welcome this kind of thing with open arms, while honestly, anyone sane would scream and run for the hills. Of course, I guess that made me crazy.

Nearing the end of a week with Dean and I was starting to get used to having him around. It was less weird to find my bathroom door locked and hear whistling coming from the other side. Dean liked to sing in the shower by the way. Bet you didn't know that. His voice isn't actually all that terrible. He plays guitar too. I have one that sits in the corner of my room, I caught him playing it once and just sort of became mesmerized. Corny as it sounds.

I was feeling happier.

I could feel it.

I didn't know what he had to be thinking though... we hadn't discussed what he'd said about being real or not, but I could see it in his eyes sometimes. He'd just sort of look off into the distance or out a window. Sometimes even space out in front of the television screen. It didn't feel right to have him there when he felt so unhappy, but I didn't say anything. I didn't know what _to _say.

They still haven't written a manual for this kind of thing. ...**Ugh**!


	7. Breakfast at Tiffany's

**So, I'd love to hear about what you're thinking. Like the story? Don't? Would you prefer having the whole (insert your name here) for every dialogue and the your eye color hair color, all that stuff? I'd love to know. It really helps when it comes to my future writing and even what I write right now. Don't feel shy about dropping a review, they're very much appreciated. :) **

**P.S. Dean's "sauce-maker" is my absolute favorite. ;) Pun intended. You have no idea how bad it was. I had to literally pause my writing and try and stop laughing.**

**-LF**

* * *

The smell of hash browns in the morning is God's way of telling us hungry creatures it's time to get up. The scent was intoxicating, and lured me up and out of bed in a heartbeat. I has smiled on the walk upstairs, thinking to myself how thoughtful it had been of Dean to make breakfast, and hash browns as well. I wondered vaguely if he knew they were my favorite, or if he'd just guessed. My questions were answered moments later when I actually entered the kitchen.

"Well good morning." Greeted a rough voice.

Crowley was standing by the stove, spatula in one hand, oven mitt on the other, staring at a griddle full of hash. My tired happiness flew out the window in a heartbeat and became skeptical. "Why are you here?" I paused, freezing in the doorway of my kitchen.

"Obviously cooking some delightful breakfast, darling."

"Sure, but _why_."

He smiled in a way that only intensified my suspicions, "Just checking in again."

"I told you," I huffed, pulling the blanket tighter around me, "I don't need to be checked up on."

"And if I said I found you interesting?"

I glared suspiciously at him for a moment, "I'd say you wanted something from me."

He grinned and scraped the food off the griddle and onto a plate, "Come on love, why the skepticism? It doesn't make you any less interesting."

"Why such annoying conversation so early in the morning, oh, lustrous king of hell?"

The demon flinched for a moment, then returned to his cooking, "Not the actual king of hell, darling." he began, catching me off guard, "You think fearless leader looks like this? The lustrous part was right." he winked, "But other than that, I'm just a humble crossroads demon." his head bowed before he lifted it again with a smirk, flipping the spatula in his palm.

"I'm not sure humble is the right word for it." I muttered submissively sitting down at the kitchen table as the aroma of delicious food filled the air.

I covered my lap with the blanket, fingering the soft, fuzzy material while I waited for the food to be done. It was quiet for a little while, save for the unsubtly, off-key whistling Crowley was doing by the stove. I wanted to ask him about Dean's sense of realism, but I wasn't sure how to bring it up. Not to mention, Dean could walk in at almost any time. It felt like it needed to be a private conversation. I let my head droop a little as I thought. Maybe ask for a time to meet? But where would Dean be during that time?

"So," Crowley spoke, smugly lifting a plate of pancakes over my head and plopping them down in front of me, "How's the Dean doing?"

Did this guy read minds?

"You had a chance to try out any of his equipment yet?" he continued, grabbing his own plate from off the counter before coming back to the table, "I don't mean to brag, but I put him together myself. Bonus points for the lack of impregnating semen. He actually spurts your choice of honey, jam, or barbeque sauce."

I cringed, "Well,_ that_ was more than I needed to know before breakfast. Thanks. It _is_ funny you should ask though..." I started, mumbling as he sat himself down next to me, "I wanted to talk with you about-"

"God that smells good!" Dean's voice rang through my kitchen as he entered, sniffing the air, "What'cha make?" His cheery voice stilled when he saw Crowley sitting next to me at the table.

"Morning squirrel." he greeted, a pleased and snarky look on his face.

"What are you doing here?"

He gestured to the plates of food in front of us, "Eating breakfast."

Dean glared and took a look around the counters, crossing his arms, "What, none for me?"

"I only serve_ ladies_."

"She's a_ kid_."

"I'm not a kid!"

* * *

Crowley's fork clanked against my mom's favorite plate as he smiled with glee, wiping the corners of his mouth with a cloth, "Well, that was a simply delightful meal! I don't think I've ever been so full of such delicious food in my entire life!"

Dean growled as he pulled another unsatisfying bite of Fruity Pebbles into his mouth, scowling into his cereal as Crowley dragged on about the five star restaurant quality of the eggs, the crispy crunch of the hash browns and how the cinnamon rolls just _melted_ in your mouth. I slapped his arm with a warning and offered Dean what I couldn't finish, but though he just growled again. Apparently his pride kept him from taking hand outs.

Crowley really _had_ gotten the character spot-on.

"What do you say I pop by for dinner as well?" Crowley offered cheerily, "I could whip us all up an absolutely _divine_ rack of ribs." A shit eating grin crossed his features as he continued, "Barbeque sauce courtesy of our very own Dean Winchester's sauce maker."

Dean's eyes widened as he leaned over the table, with a rather traumatized expression, pointing his spoon at Crowley, "Are _YOU_ responsible for that?!"

I rolled my eyes and hid my face in my palms. What a start to the day.


	8. IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE

**Well, I thought I'd clear the air a little. While this is not by any means of the term, a traditional ReaderX story, that is what I classified it as. I wanted to write it that way originally, but I honestly cannot bring myself to publish writing with the whole (your Eye color) or (Your hair color) inserts everywhere. It makes me feel like my story is incomplete, and it just rubs me the wrong way. As for giving the character her backstory, that's also the fault of my brain and how I'm comfortable writing. **

**In my eyes, character development is a huge part of any story, and without it... like I said it feels like I've made something incomplete. I realize a lot of people enjoy this and that's great! Thank you so much! To those who do not, and think I should re-catagorize it, I'm going to bluntly let you know, that's probably not happening. This character has no name, and the story is told from the reader's perspective. She's not necessarily an OC, but if you want me to get technical the story does have OC listed as a character. Therefore, I'm calling it a ReaderX. Sorry if that pisses anyone off, but it's how it is. I mean, if it honestly offends you that much, you can always just stop reading. I don't have you bound to a chair or anything. Anyway, I just wanted to get that off my chest. I actually really enjoy this story. It's fun to write and hopefully it's fun to read. :) That's sort of all it's supposed to be. There's not much finality or official aspect to it. It's just supposed to be for fun. **

**Now, that being said, if it really bugs everyone, I have the option to go back and change some pronouns. The I's to you's etc. I'll do that if enough people say they want it done. Like I said though, if you're honestly offended, you don't have to read it. It's simply how I chose to write it. **

**Alright. Long, boring AN out of the way... I'll try to get a new chapter out pretty soon. I just would like to hear everyone's opinion on this before I continue writing in first person. I love this story, and I'm glad most people seem to like it, but I'd love for people to _LOVE_ it. I guess. I don't know. I guess I just really wanted to get this all off my chest. Until Next chapter my lovelies!**

**-LF**


	9. Buttons, Buttons

**The positive response really lightened my mood about it. There was a lot of great support given. Thank you for your words of encouragement. I'm glad to hear that it's alright how it is. To celebrate this lovely little development, there's an especially juicy scene in this chapter. ;) Can't very well have a Crowley story without at least a _little_ horseplay. Thanks once more for the reviews and support lovelies. And with that, ON WITH THE SHOW! ^_^**

**-LF **

* * *

Crowley hung around for a little bit after everyone had finished with their breakfast, watching me out of the corner of his eye as I cleaned up the mess he'd made in my kitchen. Not that I didn't enjoy the food, or wasn't grateful that he'd cooked, I just consider myself a lazy person when it comes to cleaning up dishes. I honestly don't believe anyone in the world is waking up pleasantly in the morning going, 'What a glorious day! I think I'll wash the dishes!'

No. No one in their right mind has ever done that. Seriously.

I didn't get the chance to really talk with him about the Dean thing in private. Dean kept close by my side whenever Crowley was around. Probably a result of habit, always getting screwed over by the demon in _his_ world. The thought still bugged me. If Supernatural was just a television show, didn't that make Dean's world something in his head? It wasn't real after all. So... the man had nothing to go back to. It really got to me when I thought that this man might be dreaming of a home that isn't real. He'd been created for the sake of my demon deal, and that made it all my fault.

I was unintentionally torturing Dean Winchester with nothing more than my wish to be happy, and _that_ didn't make me happy at all.

Crowley's gaze shifted my way. His sharp stare pierced me as I thought, and the idea that maybe he could read my mind popped back into my head. I wouldn't put it past him, he was a demon after all, it wasn't as if I was really aware of whatever powers he had. What if he was actually terrifyingly dangerous? Dean excused himself to the restroom, muttering at Crowley about his... umm... _replaced_ outcomes. He'd stepped out though. If I was ever going to have a chance to ask, now would probably be the time to do it. Before I could even put down the plate in my hand, he was speaking.

"So, sweetheart," he started, plucking up from his seat and deciding to come over and lean against the counter, right in my personal space, "we began this lovely day with a conversation about your boy toy?"

Definitely a mind reader.

"About Dean!" I chirped, a lot louder than I should have. I stumbled over my words, cheeks reddening. That was really loud, "About Dean..." I repeated, much softer this time, "Is he- Well, is he real?"

Crowley let out a quick, huffed laugh, "He's as real as you or I."

A sigh of relief passed my lips, but before I could even begin to think about silently celebrating with Dean, he continued, "But if you're talking about his memories, those are completely manufactured."

I scoffed, "So he's _not_ real?"

"He's real. You just won't find any Sam Winchester running around. Everything he remembers never actually happened."

My attention renewed towards finishing the dishes, I frowned, "Your a very warped man."

"Demon, darling."

"Bastard."

"Oooh~" his accent rang, "That one smarts."

I kept my mind focused on the dishes, eyes trained on the soapy water that slip over the plate. So what if Dean wasn't? Well... he _was_. Seriously! That freaking manuel needs to be written! I don't know what to do in these situations at all. I'm stuck dealing with my little demon while worrying about the fake man that's been living in my house. "What the hell." I muttered under my breath, not really caring if he heard me or not.

Crowley smirked, pushing off the counter and coming up right behind me, "You know," he cooed, "You really ought to be more respectful around a demon." My mind drew a blank when I found myself suddenly caged. Two hands plonked down on either side of the sink, his arms prospectively trapping me in place as he leaved forward with sickening slowness.

I suddenly found it hard to breathe.

He breathed into the shell of my ear, chuckling in undertone, "Demons have been known to maim and kill the people who summon them." he stated, but before I could question what on earth he was talking about, I felt his cheek touch mine, the stubble scratching as one of the hands retreating from the counter and clutching my chin roughly, "It's disrespectful to summon a demon and not even know what you want. More so to continue making things hard for him." The second hand left the sink, slithering up to my collarbone, "Imagine what insulting such terrifying creatures could mean for an innocent young girl like yourself?"

A pathetic little whine left my lips as two of the fingers on my collar slipped beneath my shirt. Why the hell I'd let it out, I couldn't possibly say. Nothing was really being touched, he was simply teasing the rim of my button up. One I'd carelessly thrown over my camisole after eating. I slept in them, they were comfortable, but you _cannot_ wear those things around guys... for two, very perky reasons. I wasn't even really aware that the little noise had been me until I heard him chuckle.

"What the hell are you doing?"

It was such a relief to hear Dean's voice. My cheeks burned where he'd scratched, my embarrassment sizzling under my skin and flushing my face. Crowley slipped away, turning back towards Dean and addressing him with a cheeky tone. Even as Dean went into another spiel about pedophilia and how old I was, _I am nearly eighteen Dean_, I couldn't help but notice how cold I suddenly felt. I hadn't even realized Crowley had been so warm until his heat was gone.

I really must be crazy.

"You alright?" Dean questioned, touching my arm lightly with concern.

I snapped away, feeling the strange touch after having someone so up and in my space. The shock on their faces was rather new, but eager not to let my weirdly quick pull away to sit and stew, I fumbled with words, pulling my best upset face I could manage, "I'm not a kid Dean. I can handle myself."

He frowned, giving me a look over before silently nodding, "Yeah.. I guess not."

What was he staring at? Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and coughed. Crowley smirked. What the heck were they looking at? Finally, the demon took pity on me, gesturing to my shirt, "You're buttons are coming undone love."

With a gasp, I looked down at my chest. Sure enough, the first two were open, revealing a very low camisole and a lot of skin. I gushed, flipping around with my back to them and eagerly re-fastening the buttons and mentally cursing Crowley. He must have pulled it apart when he had his hand in my shirt. I felt my cheeks burn. He thought I was bad before! If he really did read my thoughts, he'd know _exactly_ how much I was 'disrespecting' him now.


	10. Popcorn and Destiel

**While reading this back a bit I realize I sort of did some fourth wall breaks. Well, kinda, not really. You'll see what I mean. Of course, this fic is really weird as far as universes go, it's sort of... wherever. Real world? Yeah, but there are demons. Fanbases exist. Umm... yeah... semi fourth wall breaks ye-go or a no-go? (le-go my e-go) **

**Let me know!**

**This is also beta-less, so if you catch a mistake please, please, let me know! It helps out more than you know. :) **

**-LF**

* * *

"You should stay away from Crowley."

My gaze shifted away from the TV long enough to send him a weary glance. It was probably around four, and we'd retired to the couch to see what looked good. Netflix is the new cable, so Dean spent a good five minutes clicking through the options before shrugging and clicking on Supernatural. I don't know why I expected any differently. If someone made a show about my life I'd like to watch it all the way through. "Shut up and eat your popcorn, Dean." I muttered, returning to the scene on screen.

It was about halfway through the queue of seasons Netflix had lined up. Somewhere along the line of Castiel's entrance. Not going to lie, this made me extremely curious. Not that I'm a freak about it or anything... well, yeah. Yeah, I am a bit of a freak about it. I ship destiel avidly. Do you know how hard it is not to ask a million questions when the literal object of your OTP is lounging next to you on the couch, re-living his first meeting with his (obviously) soul mate?

Naturally, my inner fangirl was screaming in hysteria.

Dean was mumbling into his popcorn, eyes trained on the television as I kept my attention glued on him, watching for any sort of reaction. If destiel was real, god so help me the world was going to hear about it! "So..." I started awkwardly, no ability whatsoever to be subtle, "You and uh... Cas."

"What about him?"

I shoved a few more pieces into my mouth, trying to figure out how to word my next sentence carefully. "Did you have sex?"

Aaaaand failing to do so.

Dean coughed on his popcorn, surging forward and pounding a fist against his chest. Once he regained him composure, and I handed him his can of soda, he stared at me, wide eyed with disbelief, "What the_ hell_ kind of question is that?!"

"An honestly curious one." I retorted, not the least bit phased. (curse all my experience with smut fics)

Dean shook his head wildly, "It concerns me that you even think about things like that."

I snorted, rather inelegantly, "You're a six foot walking ball of sex! It's a perfectly reasonable question." I opened my hands as a sign of peace, but continued my investigation, "Did you, or did you not, do your own little 'cloud seeding' with Castiel? That's all I'm asking."

"You're sick."

"And you're avoiding the question." I retorted.

"Perversion and pedophilia are just as bad as any other _intentions_." Dean bristled, straightening himself a little in his seat.

I frowned, letting my hands drop, "That's- We're not talking about Crowley."

"We should be."

So, in the end, it was my own stupid curiosity that led to Dean ultimately putting me under interrogation. I was old enough to make my own decisions. Besides, I didn't really have much of a choice. I'd made a contract. I had to see him every now and then. At least... that's how he made it seem. I didn't remember many demons from the show stalking their victims, but then again, that was a show. This was reality. (However crazy it may be)

"I would much rather talk about you and Castiel." I huffed, crossing my arms defiantly.

"There's nothing to say."

"I don't believe you."

Dean scoffed, kicking his feet up on my table and shoving the popcorn bowl in my direction, "Eat your popcorn."

"You're hiding something." I smirked, triumphantly, "You two are totally a thing."

He cast a downward glare in my direction, a silent warning for me to shut up before I said something stupid. Well, stupid-_er_. I was pretty good at saying stupid things on a regular basis. With a grudging sigh, I sat back, punching a fist into the popcorn bowl and stuffing my face. Every defiant bone in my body wanted to continue pressing him, but I thought about what I knew of him and his character, and decided to respectfully surrender.

The guy shared his emotions as easily as a politician. Only, Dean Winchester didn't have to give any false pretense. He could just tell you to shut up.

Which he did. A lot.

So we watched in silence as the Dean on screen started to slowly warm up to the mysterious angel in a trench coat. You could tell he was looking on with fondness the entire time though. If they weren't romantic, those two were the world's closest (100% platonic and totally would bite your head off if you said otherwise) friends. Not that there was anything wrong with not getting romantically involved with a close friend. Hell, before shit had started to hit the fan in my life, I had some just like that. The only reason I didn't pursue anything more was because in the end, it would probably cause more harm than good. I wonder if Dean and Cas weren't an open item exactly for that reason.

Content to not push any further, I let myself relax, smothering myself in the warmth of the couch at my back and Dean at my side. It was comfortable and peaceful, serene even with the dull sounds of fighting from the television. I was enjoying myself. With a final to resign myself and let Dean be, I felt my eyes close.

Corny as it sounds, I was happy. It was fun bantering with someone and not caring what they thought about me. It was nice to not have to put up any kind of polite front with him. Maybe that was what people found so appealing about the Winchesters, you never had to lie to them. No chick flick moments, yeah, but every emotion was still there. The loyalty, the righteous underlining, the promise to try their best, even for complete strangers.

It made me feel safe.

_He_ made me feel safe.

I _was_ safe.

I know it's corny, waking up in some man's strong arms as you're lifted away from where you fell asleep, but that's really what happened. Now, I'm a die hard romantic. Having someone carry you to bed is about as suggestive as it gets. The warm muscles contracting behind your back, your head supported on their shoulder, listening to their heart beat a low, steady rhythm. It was peaceful. All I wanted to do was cuddle into that soft drumming, relish in the heat and go back to sleeping. I shouldn't be letting him carry me though, I could walk just fine.

"Dean..." I mumbled in protest, lazily trying to brush him off, even though I was content where I was.

A soft snicker came from my carrier, "Sorry to disappoint love."

"Crowley?" I attempted, slowly becoming a little more awake.

"Were you expecting the squirrel?"

I huffed, relaxing back into his embrace. Demon or not, he was still warm, and I still felt safe. Plus, squirm too much I could get dropped and that just didn't sound like any fun at all. There was no threat to fight at the moment, so I let myself be pampered. Carried away from the couch where Dean had undoubtedly fallen asleep himself, I grinned, "You going to carry Dean to bed like a princess too?"

He snickered, "The pretty eyelashes aside, I think the man would have my head."

I mumbled sleepily, nuzzling my face into his jacket like a puppy. It would have been embarrassing if I wasn't so out of it. It was just..._ really_ comfortable. I almost wanted to whine when I was finally settled down onto my mattress. There was a faint upper curl to his lip, some that made me want to punch his shoulder. Instead I grumbled a small thanks and snuggled into my pillow. He had the nerve to chuckle at me, the smug bastard.


	11. APOLOGIES ALL

**We regret to inform you that this user is closing her account. All stories previously incomplete will be posted as finished. Yes, it's upsetting. Should anyone wish to continue a story themselves, permission to do so is given. So long as the writer credits LovelyFangirls as the original writer, anyone can finish one of the incomplete stories. **

**Sorry all, just a lot of life all at once. Too much to really deal with, and it isn't fair to leave everybody hanging for updates that won't be coming. ****Thank you all for understanding, keep on reading! :) **

**-LF**


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